


Gods and Monsters

by Xenjn



Category: Mass Effect
Genre: Ardat-Yakshi, F/M, Mind Control, Morinth/Fem!Shep - Freeform, Shepard's pov, Story Retelling, Thane loves Shepard pass it on, Thane's POV, The Justicar, slight non-con
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-10
Updated: 2015-03-10
Packaged: 2018-03-17 05:23:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,623
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3517037
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Xenjn/pseuds/Xenjn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Thane. Of course it's Thane.</p><p>Shepard forces a half smile, fights the urge to run a hand through still damp hair from a shower she took to wash the scent of metal and heat sinks off her skin. All so that she can better seduce a mind controlling Asari 'demon' whose preferred method of killing is, from what she knows, fucking her victims to death.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Gods and Monsters

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Jazyrha](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jazyrha/gifts).



> This is what happens when you introduce a polytheistic pagan to a character with polytheistic gods and beliefs. Also what happens when one of your best friends convinces you that there's absolutely no way in HELL that Thane would've just watched Shepard go on that mission without any weapons or back up at all then demands you write a fic about it.
> 
> WARNINGS FOR SLIGHT NON-CON. This is a re-telling of the Ardat-Yakshi mission, there is no rape but Morinth does kiss fem!Shep while she's under her crazy demon spell.
> 
> Written for Jazy who at this point might as well get an award for ruining my life.

Each time she slides on Kasumi’s black dress a sense of otherness blankets her, tickles at the base of her skull much like the way she imagines a biotic amp might feel. It’s unsettling to her how damn comfortable the dress is, fabric soft and smooth, cool against her shower heated skin. Though technically the dress and heels are hers now, thinking of it as Kasumi's is almost easier, helps with the otherness, because Commander Shepard doesn't own sleek black dresses or three inch heels. _Allison Gunn_ , however...

Shepard brushes her fingers through damp hair and stares at the reflection of herself in her bathroom mirror, stomach churning. It's almost dangerous to acknowledge that she might like the dress, that she looks good in it, feels powerful and vulnerable in equal measures. She turns to the side, hands sliding over her waist, watching her reflection and unconsciously shifting her thigh, trying to feel for a pistol that she knows isn't there. According to Samara, her daughter wouldn't risk even interacting with someone armed, so she's going into this alone, with nothing to defend herself except her own fists and the blind faith that Samara will be watching, will intervene when necessary.

Any strength or confidence the dress gave her ebbs away in degrees. Instead of seeing sharp curves accented by faux leather her eyes focus on strong arms, defined biceps, wide shoulders, and suddenly every half formed fantasy she had of playing the attractive bar hopper falls apart. She doesn't look like Allison Gunn, she looks like Commander Shepard. She looks battle hardened, scarred, a soldier through and through. No amount of eyeliner, lipstick, or pretty dresses was ever going to change that.

There's no way in hell Morinth is going to see her and not automatically think _trap._

The door pings with an entry request that Shepard grants absently, too focused on the rounding of her hips, the muscular thickness of her thighs to give it much thought. With her bathroom door open she can hear metal parting and resists the urge to sigh, resigned to her fate. "Come on in Samara, I'll be ready in a sec." She glances at the mirror one more time, rolls her eyes before she can allow herself to get one last good look. _Enough._ The dress will have to do, she'll make it work. "I just need to get my shoes-" A shock of green in the corner of her vision cuts her sentence short, the deadliest assassin in the known universe stands in her quarters with his back facing her fish tank, gentle blue light outlining his already vibrant skin. He inclines his head to her, a respectful nod, and if he lets his gaze lingers on her for longer than normal then he's damn good at hiding it. "My apologies, Siha. I did not mean to intrude."

Thane. _Of course_ it's Thane.

Shepard forces a half smile, fights the urge to run a hand through still damp hair from a shower she took to wash the scent of metal and heat sinks off her skin. All so that she can better seduce a mind controlling Asari 'demon' whose preferred method of killing is, from what she knows, fucking her victims to death.

She almost wants to laugh at how this sort of thing is _normal_ for her. The smile she gives becomes a little more genuine, if not amused, as she leans against the wall, crossing her arms, trying to recover some of her confidence. "You're not intruding." She breathes in deeply, tastes lingering steam on the air, remembers his lung condition and instantly slams her hand against the bathroom door panel, quite possibly damaging it. So much for confidence. "Sorry, if I'd known you were coming I would've...Are you alright?"

His lips twitch in a valiant attempt to fight back a smile, or laughter, either way the simple gesture really shouldn’t be that attractive. "You needn't worry Siha, a small amount of steam won't aggravate my condition." She nods stiffly, both embarrassed and frustrated, her hand throbbing gently from the blow she delivered to the door paneling. This...is awkward, and that's mostly thanks to their _intense mutual attraction_ finally being openly acknowledged. It's been maybe, what, three days? So far that hasn't led to anything more than intimately clasped hands and prolonged hours of eye contact. And now they're alone in her cabin.

Shepard nearly rolls her eyes, forcing the thought away. There's no time to linger on this, she has a mission tonight and Samara is waiting. She pulls away from the wall, moves past him and towards her closet. "Was there something you needed, Thane?"

Heels in hand, she glances up at him as she sits on the edge of her bed, quietly taking note how distracted he looks, and it’s obvious that it’s not because of her. A tension seems to spark between them, something heavy and skirting on the edge of uncomfortable as he steps closer. His hands are clasped behind his back, shoulders stiff, posture perfectly straight. “I…Yes.” He breathes in slowly, biding time as he searches for the words and she resists the urge to raise an eyebrow at him. It’s incredibly rare to see him out of sorts like this, all coiled tension and heavy silence. “Yes.” He finally repeats, exhaling. “I am glad I managed to find you before your departure. I have spoken to Samara about the mission you are undertaking. She tells me you will be entering the situation entirely unarmed?”

It’s more statement than question but the sentiment is the same. He’s _worried_ and the unexpected fluttering in her chest that comes with the realization has her looking down at her feet to hide the reaction, quietly sliding her heels on. He’s _worried_ but the almost confession does nothing to dissipate the tension in the air, it lingers, almost heavier. There’s something he’s not telling her. Or is it really just simple worry?

One way to find out. She tries to play it all off as nonchalant, adjusting the strap on her heels, gauging his reaction. “Yup. According to Samara, Morinth is skittish as hell. Apparently enough to avoid anyone with a means to defend themselves so no weapons or backup allowed.” She shrugs her shoulders, squeezing her confined toes as she looks back up at him. “Can’t say I’m happy about it but it shouldn’t be a problem. My hand to hand is up to par if it comes to that.” She wonders, vaguely, how the idiom translates in Drell, if he’d even understand it. He gives no indication either way, his voice quiet, heavy with hesitation. “I am aware.” The dramatic shift from his normal demeanor is throwing her off enough to make her anxious, almost impatient enough to demand he come out with it. _What the hell does he know that I don’t?_

But he turns away before she can ask for(demand) answers, moving to stand in front of her fish tank. She follows, feet protesting briefly at the alien feel of heels but she gets over to him without hitch, mirroring his posture and standing beside him. They’ve stood together like this once before, speaking to each other about his estranged son before the gun racks and white walls of Life Support.

Shepard does her best to ignore the touch of impatience that comes at his nearly alarming silence. She’ll need to go soon, but something’s bothering him about this mission, and she has to trust that he’ll tell her in his own time. So as she patiently stands beside him in silence, she recalls that she hasn’t fed her fish yet today and feels a twinge of guilt when she presses the button and sees how rapidly they go for the flakes.

"The Ardat-Yakshi is not a new concept to me."

She turns her head to look at him, eyebrows raised but his eyes are focused on the fish tank. “The Justicar speaks of only one in our known galaxy, Morinth. However the name she used when I first learned of her existence, was Illea.” Well _that_ was the last thing she’d been expecting. He inhales deeply and maybe she’s imagining it, maybe it’s because she’s looking for it, but she thinks for a split second his breath is strained. She thinks for a split second her heart stops. “I did not personally encounter her. However there was a target once, an Asari politician who was ensnared by the Ardat-Yakshi’s spell.”

Thane finally turns to look at her, his eyes heavy, brow ridges furrowed with concern, and if she didn’t know any better she might say there was fear somewhere in those dark eyes. “If you will permit me, I would share the memory with you.” Her extreme curiosity and mounting unease have her nodding straight away, watching closely as he inhales again, jaw twitching and pupils dilating rapidly as he lapses into his solipsism.

“I drop from the ventilation shaft. The office is dark, empty but for my target. An unnatural chill in the air as I move closer. She is still in her chair. Asleep? No. Breathing too quick, too heavy. I approach. She could not have heard me but her head lolls back. Unseeing eyes fall upon me. The chill is stronger now. Sunken cheeks stretch over bone. Dried, cracked lips part. Her voice is a rasp. Of longing. Of Pain. “Illea…” My hands press to her forehead and chin. The skin is fever hot. Nearly burning. Nearly searing. “Illea, my love…” A plea in the darkness. The bones are brittle, her neck breaks too easily.”

His eyes are closed, head bowed for a long moment as her breath hitches, goosebumps prickling on the length of her arms. What can she even say to that? “I do not feel guilt for the lives I have taken, Shepard. Most of the time, I feel nothing. In this instance however, taking her life felt more like mercy than a contract.” Dark eyes finally meet hers again, both sets of lids blinking slowly as the memory he described lingers, chilling her skin like icy fingers trailing down her spine and she feels exposed, _vulnerable._ Hates it. “It is not a memory I actively seek to revisit.” The huff she gives is more an attempt at lightening the mood than anything. “No kidding. Can’t imagine why.” It fails miserably and she flinches, fights the urge to duck her head like a chastised child. “Sorry.”

The sides of his lips twitch in a small, aborted smile. The worry lingers too heavily on his face for anything more than that. But still he steps closer to her, enough so that if she inched forward her chest would brush against his. Her throat tightens, and his hushed tone has her ears prickling with warmth. “You need not apologize Siha. I am simply…hm.”

His hands move, and her breath doesn’t quite catch, but it comes damn close when those cool fingers wrap around her wrist, turning it and placing something in her hand. She glances down at the box as big as her palm. “I had hoped to give you these under different circumstances.” Her eyes flicker up to meet his, confused, then back down to the box. “What is it?” The question’s redundant, she’s already opening it, raising an eyebrow. “Bracelets?” That’s…completely unexpected. She’s never taken Thane for the jewelry type, and even then she isn’t the type either, which should be glaringly obvious. Still, the brightly polished silver _is_ beautiful, the curve of them a deep crescent, reflecting the blue glow of her fish tank.’

Not bothering to disguise the question in her voice, and wondering what the hell these have to do with Samara and the Ardat-Yakshi, she meets his eyes. “Thank you. They’re beautiful.” A small, amused smirk plays on his lips. “May I?” He gestures to the bracelets and after a split second’s confusion, nods, offering her wrists. There’s a gap at the bottom of the bracelets, where the two rounded ends almost meet, he takes her hand in his own, the bite of metal is cold against her rapidly heating skin. Shepard watches him, almost fascinated at how Thane treats the simple task with such an intense focus that eventually all breath is driven from her. His touch lingers longer than necessary, smooth scales tracing the tendons along her wrists as he puts the bracelets in place.

Shepard drags her tongue along her lips, absently, watching his hands and the contrast his bright scales make against her skin. The hands pull back, a beat later he’s behind her, and she’s twisting her neck to see him, pulled out of her haze with her pulse beginning to pound low, insistent. “Thane?” A shiver, a real honest to god shiver makes its way down her spine as his fingertips drag along the length of her arms, breath stopping, lips parting when they reach for her wrists again. “Allow me to show you.” She forgets for a minute that there’s a mission to prepare for, far too focused on the curve of his chest just barely brushing against her back. _Two can play this game._ She leans into him, lips twitching into a grin when she feels the entire length of his body stiffen against her.

All that is forgotten, however, when his hands encircle her wrists and gently push them together. The rounded silver ends of the bracelets meet, and she jolts in surprise when a subtle spark of electricity flares where the metal touches. Thane pulls her wrists apart, her eyes widening in breathless astonishment as what looks like a thin steel cord forms itself in the negative space between the bracelets, growing longer the further he moves her arms apart. A choke wire.

His voice is low, sub harmonics vibrating through his chest, along her spine. She shivers again. “It is unbreakable. Strong enough to still the air in a Krogan’s neck, thin enough to defeat the possibility of removal unless you wish it. Undetectable by all current security standards.” Shepard stares, absolutely transfixed as he pushes her wrists back together, the cord retracting until the ends of the bracelets meet again, and it disappears. Warm lips, full lips brush against her ear, brazen of him, with his strong chest pressed against her back and thumbs gently caressing the curve of her wrists. Thane’s words are barely there, barely a whisper. “A warrior angel should not be without protection.”

Scaled hands pull back, the body so tantalizingly pushed against her own retreats but honestly, she almost doesn’t notice. Her eyes are fixed onto the bracelets and she finds herself pressing the ends together, pulling them apart, the beginnings of almost childlike excitement bubbling in her throat. Stretching her arms out she tests the length of the cord, wondering when it ends but it just keeps forming itself, regardless of how far she reaches, and when she brings her wrists back together it retracts perfectly, disappearing with a faint spark where the ends meet.

Thane moves to stand in front of her again and of all things she feels gratitude, relief, swelling in her chest and she isn’t sure if he understands that he gave her more than just bracelets with a neat trick. He gave her a sense of security she didn’t even know she needed, can feel an almost physical weight being lifted from her shoulders. She isn’t entirely unarmed, she isn’t entirely defenseless.

“You like it then, Siha?” There’s hope in his eyes, in the slight upturn of his lips and earnestness of his words and she isn’t quite sure how to convey her gratitude, how to explain to him exactly what he’s done without admitting that even a part of her had been anxious. So instead of talking she fists her hands into his coat and tugs sharply, their lips meeting like her choke-wire bracelets, with a spark passing between them.

This is the first kiss they’ve ever shared and it’s odd to her how it feels exactly the opposite. They fall into this as naturally as they do when they’re side by side in a firefight, meeting each other half way, reading each movement with an intimacy and understanding so visceral that it almost frightens her. She wants to move in closer, deeper, wants to drag her tongue along his lips and finally know what he tastes like, but the part of her that’s ever the Commander refuses to give her the chance. She’s never been exposed to Drell venom, taking a dose of an unknown substance with an unknown effect right before a mission could be absolutely catastrophic, as temping as it might be.

The terminal at her desk pings almost blaringly loud, EDI’s voice sounding all around them. “Commander, Samara requests your presence in the shuttle bay.” For a split second the distraction from her temptation feels like a blessing, but then he’s pulling back entirely and she can see his wet lips, his dark eyes, and he’s _so damn close._ Shepard groans in frustration, he laughs under his breath. “I share the sentiment.”

Exhaling slowly she steps back, tilting her head towards the terminal. “EDI, tell her I’ll be down in a second.” Their eyes meet again, EDI's reply is nothing but white noise as he reaches for her hands, mirroring their touches in Life Support. "Siha, allow me to accompany you this evening. I shall find a vantage point out of the Ardat-Yakshi's view, and keep a close watch should your mission take a turn for the worse."

His words are spoken calmly, earnestly, but his eyes speak of a fear for her he wouldn't name aloud, and she thinks of the memory he shared with her, how jarred he seemed from it. There's no doubt in her mind that if she denies him he won't question her judgment, her orders, but she wonders how she'd feel if their positions were switched. Would she send him into an extremely dangerous situation barely armed, with no means of contacting for help, while she's forced to simply wait back at the ship hoping that he _might_ return?

Fuck no she wouldn't.

Shepard squeezes the hands in hers, nods her head once, slipping back into the skin of the commander, her voice is firm. "Samara can't know either." He nods as well, and some of the tension drains from his shoulders. "I will be nothing more than a shadow in the darkness." "Good." Her palms are warm, fingertips hot so she drags a hand through her mostly dry hair, trying to cool it off with the residual moisture. _Time to go, but first_. A thought strikes her, being playful is something she rarely indulges, but in this case…"A kiss for luck?" She doesn't quite believe in luck, but it's a good excuse as any.

An eyebrow ridge raises in bemused confusion. "Is that a human tradition?" Shepard's lips spread into a slow grin, her hands brushing over his chest. "Something like that." She leans in and he meets her halfway, the kiss short, sweet, and she promises herself when this is over she’ll drag him back into her quarters and make out with him _properly._

\--

**Thane**

She is stunning. Though the word does not seem adequate enough to describe it. His lips burn with the taste of her, his body aches with the urge to simply lapse back into the memory of her kiss, to lose himself within it, allow it to consume him. But not now, not yet. Later, when he is assured that his Siha is safely returned to the Normandy, then he shall indulge. For now he glances over at her as they wait in the elevator, she keeps herself close to him, though not enough to touch, her eyes fixed upon the gifts he has given.

She's fascinated by it, clearly, and it thrills him to see her so taken with them, to know that he has brought that light to her eyes. The tight coil in his chest slowly begins to unfurl. _She will be safe._ He has no doubt in her abilities, her strength, and yet...The image of his Asari target, of her black eyes and sunken cheeks, of her empty voice whispering the name of the Ardat-Yakshi that had ensnared her refuses to leave his mind, refuses to give him peace.

But he is grateful beyond measure that Shepard is allowing him to accompany her, that he will be able to do all that is necessary to spare her from the same fate. A part of him cannot help but lament quietly on the burden the Justicar must face. To spend centuries in the pursuit of her child, to watch the slow decay of her soul, until all that remains is twisted and unnatural. His fingers twitch behind his back as he wonders at the strength of will it must take to prepare oneself to kill their own child.

It is a strength that he himself does not, could not possess.

The thought is forced away quickly, and in a breath he forgets the limits of his lungs, stretches them too far for the air he desires. The pain that comes is a pinch in the hollows of his chest, a jolt that cuts across his nerves, settles in his throat with the emotion. There is no need for hypotheticals, Kolyat is safe, his soul no longer disconnected. He is learning to lead a good, honorable life. All of which is thanks to the Siha beside him, who admires the gifts he's given her, who not only accepts but _returns_ his affection, who's sharp eyes catch his flinch of pain.

Who _kissed_ him only moment before...

Her voice is the only thing that keeps him from lapsing into the memory, from losing himself in the sensation of her remembered touch, the taste of her still lingering on his lips. "I can't help but wonder if this is wrong." Something like ice jolts down his spine, for a moment he is unsure if she is referring to their budding romance, but the darkness he finds when he meets her gaze is blessedly not directed at him. "You speak of the Justicar." He's careful not to word it as a question.

She turns away, eyes focusing on her thumb as it drags over the smooth metal of her bracelets. "I met the mother of her last kill, I saw her tears, listened to the girl's diary, and now you're telling me you met one of the victims." Her head rises, shifts as she cracks the bones in her neck, rolls her powerful shoulders to loosen them. "She's a serial killer, and she needs to die. That's not what bothers me."

His voice seems to surprise her as lost in thought as she is. "You do not wish for the Justicar to have to face such a decision, you would protect her from the pain of ending her daughter's life." The words hit their mark if the wry twist of her lips is any indication. Shepard presses her wrists together, the wire sparking between the bracelets as she pulls them apart. "If I get the chance... I should end this myself. Spare her the pain, like you said." Her eyes meet his, and there is an indecisiveness in them that he's rarely ever seen, and he is honored, privileged, that she would show it to him. "But I can't help but wonder if that'll just make it worse. Or if she'll hate me for it. Either way her daughter will be dead, does it really matter who pulls the trigger?" Strong wrists push towards each other and the wire retracts, disappears as though it had never been.

"Shepard." It is more breath than word as he turns to her, their hands meeting between them. The skin of her palms is not soft, nor smooth. There are bumps and ridges, hardened callouses, uneven with all her tearing at them in absent boredom.

"Siha." He inclines his head toward her, in respect, in reverence, this warrior angel who would accept another's burden as her own, who wishes with all her strength to protect an Asari she has known scarcely a week, from an inevitable pain that is far beyond their combined realms of understanding. She stands before him with her warm hands in his, asking his opinion, awaiting it, and he wonders how his opinion could matter to one such as herself. He stands before her and all the words that linger on his tongue, all the reassurances or explanations fall away to one simple truth.

"This must be her burden to bare."

The worry that it is inadequate manifests as silence stretches between them, a measured thing, a heavy weight in the air and he allows himself to take comfort in the touch of her hands. Her sigh of acquiescence, when it comes, fans warm breath across his cheeks. "You're right." As the elevator's decent begins to slow an impulse takes him and he lifts one of her hands, brushes his mouth across the curve of her wrist.

The drumming of her pulse is strong against his lips as he lingers, breathing in the scent of her standard issue body wash. This moment of peace cannot last, he knows, the touch of a metal bracelet against his skin is the reminder of her mission, of his hesitation, of an Asari with hollow eyes and broken lips, rasping the name of her enslaver, lost to oblivion.

His grip loosens as the elevator comes to a halt, doors pulling apart as heavy lids blink open to find the barest hint of a flush dusting across Shepard's cheeks. _Stunning._ She is still for barely a second before glancing away, clearing her throat and rolling her shoulders again, regaining her composure. "What was that for?" There is an attempt to be teasing, even playful in her tone, but it falls short, buried under the commander and the warrior both. Their eyes meet, and he inclines his head towards her, only barely managing to resist the urge to smile.

"For luck."

\--

It is...disconcerting to see Shepard in the filth of Omega without her armor or weapons. Though he does not fear for her, not yet. Despite her state of undress and decreased mobility she walks with purpose, with long strides and barely concealed strength in her defined arms, her wide shoulders. She is as powerful in heels as she is in full armor.

And though he had waited five minutes after she and Samara had left to depart from the Normandy's hanger, he'd still managed to move swiftly enough to be in position by the time Shepard entered Afterlife's VIP lounge.

The pulse of the music is achingly loud, repetitious, and from his perch above them he surveys the dancers straining to keep up with its rapid tempo. The metal grating he stands upon acts as a sort of walkway above the lounge, accessible only to maintenance workers, or so the public is led to believe. Its vantage points and areas of cover suggest it's placement was intentional, which is no surprise to him. Aria has her reasons, and the lives he has taken crouched in this very spot, some commissioned by Aria herself, are evidence to that.

His thoughts bleed away as Shepard steps deeper into the lounge, her posture stiff even as she tries to appear nonchalant. If she is aware of his presence high above her, she gives no indication. Yet another unavoidable wave of concern for her washes over him, and it is a struggle to force it aside, to reassure himself of her safety. She is not unarmed, he has ensured that, and should he fail the Justicar would not hesitate to give her own life to protect her. He had been present when the Asari made her binding vow, had stood beside her in battle, she would not go back on her word. Perhaps.

Many Asari move through the VIP lounge, dancers, patrons, mercenaries or body guards, but Shepard walks among them alert and unafraid, making her way towards the dancefloor with single minded purpose. He nearly falters. Surely she knows that if she attempts to dance her mission will be a failure. As graceful as she is on the battle field, all power and precision, her skills on the dance floor are...horrendous. Repressing his amusement he watches as she approaches an Asari being accosted by a rather intoxicated Turian. A moment later her fist is colliding with his face, quite possibly leaving a permanent crack in his mandibles. This time, he cannot stop his smile. She will be fine.

Allowing himself to tear his gaze away, he surveys the lounge, moving slowly across the walkway. The grating is sharp against the thin soles of his boots, music blares around him as his palms brush across the hand rails, eyes scanning the crowds. With the amount of Asari milling around he had assumed it would be near impossible to spot the Ardat-Yakshi, not unless she chooses to make her presence known. But his eyes fix upon the form of an Asari who lingers in the shadows, clad in black with arms crossed over her chest, her predatory gaze focused on the movements of the dancers. He can no longer hear the music, only the ringing echo it leaves behind as a chill digs deep beneath his flesh, settling into his bones as if Arashu herself were whispering to him in warning.

He's found her.

The urge that comes to end this now is frustratingly hypocritical. For all his insistence to Shepard that this is the Justicar's burden to bare, he finds it difficult not notice how simple it would be to slip down behind the demon and break her neck. It would be over in seconds, and he cannot help but to wonder if her skin would be searing hot, not unlike the Asari target he'd found under her spell. He wonders if that heat is the demon hidden beneath the flesh, attempting to burn its way out, constantly hungering and never satisfied.

Before he can make a decision the demon begins to move, her eyes intent on the form of his Siha. Another chill travels through him, fingers twitching around the hand rail as the Ardat-Yakshi speaks to Shepard, drawing her away from the dance floor. He follows as best as he is able, crouching high above their darkened corner as they sit across from each other, their conversation beginning immediately. Although he cannot hear from this distance, he finds himself fixated on the Asari’s lips, the curve of them, her words are laced with a poison neither seen nor heard but, he can _feel_ it, a sense of wrongness, otherness about her.

She should not be here among the living. She must not be allowed to escape.

Tearing his gaze from the demon he focuses on Shepard, she is forcibly calmed, with eyes that speak of challenge, a flirtatious twisting of her lips. She is the picture of nonchalance, one hand casually teasing the lip of her glass, the other resting across the back of the sofa, fingers drumming absently on the cushions. Their pretense at conversation drags on for a few long moments before a minute shift in Shepard's posture has his breath catching, a glance back at the Ardat-Yakshi confirms the fears he'd attempted to drown. Eyes the shade of crystalline ice have narrowed with want, with that burning hunger which screams from beneath her skin. The demon has chosen its prey and its hunger will not be sated by anything but the Siha before her.

Shepard must feel the full force of that hunger, there is a stiffness in her shoulders as she rises, walks beside the Ardat-Yakshi towards the entrance of the VIP lounge, it's hand moving to rest on the small of her back. The throat-tightening rage that comes at the sight is almost alarming, yet so is the idea of something so utterly unclean daring to touch a soul as bright as Shepard's. He must control his breathing, control the urge to end this now. His task is to follow, to protect her from harm, he cannot interfere unless absolutely necessary.

The next intake of air rattles in his damaged lungs, the hollows of his ears ringing with residual sound as he follows their path from the lounge, blinking harshly at the shift of lighting. The overhead walkways continue through the halls of Omega, his fingertips brushing the metal as he clings to the shadows, footsteps light, hears the vague murmur of their voices, the rhythmic click of Shepard's heels, until they abruptly stop before a single elevator shaft.

A sudden rush of adrenaline spikes as both Shepard and the Asari demon are hidden from him, encased behind thick metal walls and he's moving with more swiftness, more desperation than is entirely necessary. The ladder he finds within the thin elevator shaft is old, rusted with joints that creak and protest for each bar he grasps. Sharp pinpricks of pain fill his lungs with each level he climbs, each heavy breath he takes, but it is nothing, only pain. Pain can be ignored.

"Arashu," His voice is rough, heavy with strain, echoing back at him in the narrow corridor. "Arashu, Goddess of protection. I beg of you, watch over the one I love. Keep her safe within the embrace of your arms. Endow me with the strength to be her protector." A gentle chill blooms in his chest with the next inhale, relieving the strain in his lungs and Thane can almost feel the touch of the goddesses hands flowing strength into his body, pushing him up, higher towards his goal.

The elevator has long stopped but muffled behind sheets of metal he can hear the strong click of heels accompanied by a voice, far off but blessingly familiar. His heart nearly bursts from relief, he has not failed, not yet.

It is simple follow after that, Amonkira guides his body through the ventilation shaft, Arashu flows strength into his limbs, soon enough his eyes find the form of his Siha and the Asari demon upon a large couch, the view just barely obstructed by metal grating. They sit side by side, his gaze fixed on the profile of Shepard's face while a hand rests upon her thigh, caressing slowly across black fabric. It is a level of intimacy that they themselves have not, _may not_ ever reach. Chest tightening, he does not allow the disgust he feels to give away his position. He must be patient, but _Arashu_ it is difficult, knowing she is in such a perfect trap, knowing it is well within his power to free her from it.

The demon's voice is low, the tone alluringly seductive. His mouth dries at the sound of it, at the innate knowledge that countless have fallen into the trap of that voice and have not returned from its depths. "I love clubs, the people, the movement, the _heat..._ " Its breath fans across Shepard's face, fluttering her eyelashes. "I can still hear the bass, like the drums of a great hunt, out for your blood..."

Its hand drags higher, fingertips brushing over thigh and hip, following the curves of her body. "But _here_ it's muted, and you're _safe._ " Blue lips twist, its smirk is vile, stretched too tightly across bone and flesh, its body leaning in close. "Is that what you want Shepard?" A hand rests on his Siha's cheek turning her face away. "I'd rather fight than hide." There's a hitch in Shepard's voice that startles him, is she taken under the spell? Or simply acting? He cannot tell, he cannot see her eyes.

Low laughter echoes from the Ardat-Yakshi's throat, igniting the tinder of panic within his chest. It's face draws closer in what must be a kiss. " _Yes_ , better to take control of your fate." The demon's fingers press against Shepard's throat, blue against vulnerable skin, experimentally pushing. His body stiffens, muscles tight. "I've never understood the fascination with safety. Some of us choose differently." Their lips meet again, just barely, and he shudders to think of the demon's breath entering his Siha's mouth. "Independence over submission, I think we share that, you and I..."

"We do." His breath stills as the smirk returns, hungrier. "So quick to agree..." A laxness falls over Shepard's body, her arms draped uselessly at her sides, a persistent tightening of his throat nearly suffocates him as the Ardat-Yakshi's body is pressed into his Siha's lap, long legs caging in her hips, thumbs pressing into an exposed throat. He cannot wait for the Justicar any longer, he must move, must-

Pale eyes flash, turn black, and the entire room seems to quake.

Power disturbs the very air. Black eyes, black bile rises in his throat, fights to fill his entity, to overtake him. Doubling over, he nearly wretches. "Look into my eyes." He forces his eyelids shut, nails digging into metal below him as he fights, _fights_ to refuse the command. "Tell me you _want_ me, tell me you'd _kill_ for me. _Anything I want._ " Gagging, it is only Arashu's voice that spares him. Her screams fill his mind, bells of warning, alarms of sound, forcing his body forward and demanding that he move, that he save the Siha, protect her at all costs.

It is only muscle memory that prevents him from falling from the vents, he cannot think, cannot _breathe_. The voice of Arashu, the voice of protection that has shadowed his steps all his life screams in rage, in agony, warring against the corruption of the demons song. His vision dances, feet landing soft and silent upon carpeted ground, a blade held tightly within his grasp.

Somewhere within the suffocating haze he hears Shepard speak. "I...want you. I'd kill...for you... _Anything_ you want... _Morinth_..." Knees quaking, he chokes on pure horror, a hand rising to claw at his throat. Her voice is a perfect mirror of the possessed Asari target. He has failed, he has failed and he loses all care for stealth or silence, for the training that consumed all of his life. " _Hush_ darling, just relax and hear my words..."

" _Morinth!_ " Before his hands can claim it's death and release his Siha from the demon's spell it's body is shielded from him, encased within the blue glow of biotics, and _slammed_ back into shattering glass away from Shepard. Away from Shepard. It is only then that he stills, heaving for breath as he is freed from the spell of sickness, only for a pulse of pure biotic energy to burst through the room, knocking both himself, and Shepard who had attempted to stand on shaking legs, back, far away from each other.

The next inhale stutters, mother and daughter shout their pain to each other as he pulls himself up to his feet. He cannot see Shepard, she must have been knocked back behind the overturned couches. It takes all of his control to keep away from the battle. The goddess is shrieking in his ears, demanding the demon's death, screaming for it to be purged from this world and he aches to answer the call. The Justicar's split second of hesitation grants the Ardat-Yakshi a reprieve, it is a grievous mistake, locking them in a duel of biotics, their shouts, their desperation, drowning beneath the hum of their matched power.

They call to each other, they call to Shepard, and his heart stills as a _Siha_ rises, as if from Kalahira's shores themselves. Their eyes meet and the rush of air that leaves him is more than breath, it is life, it is the presence of the goddess herself pulling away from him, and with her departure comes such an emptiness as he has never known.

He chokes on it, only able to watch with widened eyes and trembling limbs as a hand reaches through the powerful shield of biotics, shattering it with nothing more than a touch. A voice sounds out, powerful and layered, and Thane's knees quake, give out, to hear the voice of Shepard and Arashu herself so united. " _End of the line Morinth._ "

Black eyes return, look upon Shepard and the split second seems to stretch into an eon as they acknowledge one another, understand each other, seeing past the cages of flesh and bone, into the very soul. The demon bares her teeth, spits to the goddess; "And the call _me_ a monster." Before her body is thrown back by another burst of biotics.

The spell is broken, all hesitation has fled from the Justicar’s steps as she approaches. Power ebbs over her skin, finding it's center in the palm of the hand she raises. "Find _peace_ in the embrace of the goddess." Her blow pure energy, the force it, of the demon's death vibrates through the floors, shatters the glass of the windows, washes over his soul in a tidal wave of grief and rage and agony.

With it's echo an awareness comes, a sharp silence stretching across the world as he pulls himself from the ground, exhales the breath held in his lungs as the emptiness fades, as the loss dissipates. The Justicar meets his eyes, acknowledges his betrayal of her confidence before finding the corpse of the Asari at her feet. His gaze follows, and it is as if he is seeing a face he has no memory of, for the body that lies crumpled and shattered in a widening pool of her own blood is no longer the Ardat-Yakshi, no longer a demon. But a child.

Samara's child.

It is more than instinct, more than pity, that has him bowing his head, eyelids sliding shut and hands clasping together with a blade caught between them. "Drell." He looks up, but Samara's gaze is fixed firmly onto her daughter, the tips of her boots growing wet and red. "I would hear your prayer."

A beat, and he bows his head once again, the too sharp taste of Asari blood filling his mouth as he inhales. "Kalahira. Mistress of the Depths." The blade he grips tight in his hands does not cut flesh, but it is a close thing. "Beneath this demon's shell lived the soul of a child stolen from innocence. Kalahira, whose waves wear down stone and sand, I pray that you wash the sins from this one, and set her true soul upon the path to the distant shore of the infinite spirit."

The Justicar does not look at him, her eyes close and her breath does not shake, she does not falter, but her shoulders flex, as if bowed and yet freed by some lingering, endless weight. She arches her head back to the ceiling. "Thank you." After a moment, she turns her back to them both, shoulders set. "I am ready to leave this place and get on with my life.

A warrior of Arashu places her hand on Samara’s shoulder, her voice strong, soothing. “Let’s go.”

Thane can only follow.

-EPILOGUE-

Her hands do not hold her cup with the same strength that he is accustomed to, but they do not tremble. For this, he is extremely grateful. "How are you Thane?" The smile on her lips is gentle, affection clear in her tired eyes as she muffles a yawn into the back of her hand, the bracelet upon her wrist reflecting the lights of Life Support. That she continues to wear them...A smile comes to his lips easily. "I am well Siha, and you?"

She desperately needs rest, they both know this, but he will not force her into admittance, and she seems to respect his avoidance of the topic. “I’m alright." A beat, hesitation flashing across her face for a split second before it is forcibly removed. "...Exhausted, truth be told. Dealing with Samara's daughter last night really took a lot out of me." She raises the mug of tea to her lips, inhaling deep the soothing scent of the Drell brew.

It is a flavor that before today she'd had no desire to sample. But the eagerness in which she drinks now is of no surprise to him. She is a Siha. It is only natural that the tea of the holy temples would appeal to her, especially after last night. Quietly, he prays that the brew will heal the wounds of her spirit, as it has so often done for him. After a long drink she sets the mug down, staring into the dark liquid, her bearing heavy with her silence.

She wishes to tell him something and he knows it is no easy task for her to give away thoughts that may imply weakness. So he sits across from her in silence, waits with endless patience for her to come to the decision to voice her burdens, or to leave them for another time.

Shepard must appreciate the unspoken gesture, for when she speaks it is with a level of vulnerability and trust that she gives no other. His heart aches at the sound of it, overjoyed, humbled, for the privilege. "I can't get her eyes out of my head." The tendons in her hands tighten, and he wishes for nothing more than to reach out and take them, but it is not the time, not yet.

“I was arrogant, I thought…I thought I was strong enough to overcome her powers. Honestly I’m not even sure I believed in them. I thought, after the Prothean Beacon that I could handle a voice or two inside my head. But _this_ …” A shaking breath disturbs the liquid in her mug, where she keeps her gaze focused intensely. “It was like I was being _drained_ , like she was stealing my life essence or something weird like that. I don’t know how to explain it but-I just felt like I was… _less_.”

It takes strength for her to meet his eyes, to show him her fear, the violation of her soul on plain display before him. A surge of guilt rises in his throat, heavy and hot and he should not have hesitated, he should have ended it the moment he had the chance. He could have, _should_ have spared her this.

"When I saw you though," Her voice pulls the thoughts from him, and when he reaches out his hands to her she meets him half way. Their touch comforts each other, the burden weighing upon her shoulders lightens, the heaviness in his lungs lessens, and despite his guilt the small, genuine smile she musters brings joy to his heart.

"When I saw you, I felt like I got my second wind, you know? I just acted on instinct, it was probably the adrenaline rush but I felt _strong_ , and now I feel like shit, I’m so completely exhausted. I haven’t been able to get that memory you told me out of my head. If just a minute or two under her control drained me this much, I can’t even imagine how…” She sighs, her hands squeeze his gently, lacking their usual strength. “Thanks. I just needed to get that out.”

 _The goddess Arashu entered your soul. She gave you her strength, it is only natural that your body would need time to recover_. But this he does not say, unsure of how she would react, if she would believe. He supposes he will simply have to believe enough for the both of them. Instead he says, “You need not thank me, Siha. I am always here, and I am honored to be one whom you trust.” She stares into his eyes, with an intensity that nearly makes him shiver. “You’re more than that, Thane.”

Like their hands, their lips meet halfway and the kiss they share is slow, it soothes his restless spirit which still fears for her wellbeing. Her lips are wet as they part, eyelids drooping. "Rest, Siha." She does not argue, nods her head, leaning in to press a kiss that is far too chaste against his lips before pulling away entirely, standing from her seat. “I’ll see you later.” He inclines his head, unable to keep the smile from his lips. “I will await your return.”

It is only when he hears the faint metallic rush of elevator doors parting and closing does he stand, collecting her empty mug and his own, suddenly restless. Mess Officer Gardner smiles at him when he approaches, extending his hands for the mugs. “Heya Krios, how are ya? Give those here, ‘m about to put the dishes in the wash cycle, you got good timing.” Their hands do not touch as Thane hands the mugs over, offering the man a friendly nod, “I am well. Thank you.” A sniff, interesting how humans can express so much with simply their breath. “Nah, don’t mention it.”

The back of his neck burns with the sensation of eyes upon him, turning to meet them it is the Justicar he finds at the other end of the room. Her gaze is an unspoken request for words. He inclines his head towards her in acquiescence as she turns to her quarters. Ah, a private conversation. “Excuse me.” “Not a prob.” “Thank you.”

Her doors part for him, and she stands in a posture that mirrors his own, hands clasped behind her back as she stares into the great expanse of stars. "Thane Krios." She does not turn to him. “You wish to speak to me.” It is not a question, he says it merely to fill the silence. “Yes.” But despite the patience he had with his Siha, he finds he does not wish to extend the same courtesy to the Justicar before him. After all, she is the reason for Shepard’s current state. “Then speak.”

She turns to face him then, a contained spark of anger flaring in her eyes. “Before the mission, you came to me with questions regarding my request for Shepard’s assistance. I volunteered this information after your assurance that you would not interfere. You interfered. The vow I have given Shepard extends to no other. Had your interference in any way inhibited my mission, I would have been bound by the code to end your life.”

A threat veiled with an accusation, then. “It is fortunate, in that case, that the situation did not come to that. I will not apologize for my choice in the matter. I made the correct one.” A stiffness settles over her body, eyes widening with realization, then narrowing in insult. “You doubt my ability to protect her.”

He does not hesitate to give the truth. "Yes.”

The spark in her eyes flares brighter, the muscles in her arms tighten as she clenches her fists behind her back. “Your actions put yourself, the galaxy, _and Shepard_ in grave peril.”

Thane thinks of his Siha, the woman he loves, remembers her tired eyes and the trembling desperation within her voice as she described to him the sensation of being trapped by the Ardat-Yakshi’s spell. He thinks of his target from long ago, her dead eyes and broken lips, whispering the name of her enslaver. If he had not been there, if the Justicar had failed, the same fate would have befallen _her_.

The cold rage that consumed him in the aftermath of Irikah’s death fills him once again, drowning his voice with its deadly venom. “So did yours.” He turns to leave her quarters let he do something his Siha would not approve of, and does not look back.

-END-


End file.
